Colours are scattered everywhere.
Buzzing and smoke fill the space,
To voluntarily mix
With ‘ahhs’ and ‘oohs’ of people amazed
When the mirrors suddenly disclose their reflections.
The sound of music is barely recognised
Because of the husky laughs and the ***** swears.
Everyone is called ‘beauty’ and ‘lovely’
And each one feels awesome and a homecoming queen or king.
All types of people no matter who
Go to the beauty salon hiding their old self
Inside their ribs and chunky hips.
But they go out to partly show it off
No matter if it is casually spilled
Through the hair locks or the pouty lips.
The beauty therapy is the treasure trove
That makes the shaky brim
with that type of confidence
That first roots itself here within
And whenever it is ready
It bravely discloses itself to the outside world.
At the end of the day,
The salon’s assistant removes that forced smile
And swallows the last words of praise
While counting the tips that have been harvested
After a long day of hectic work and headache.